Garland of the Buddha's Past Lives (Volume 2). Aryashura

behave in such circumstances:

      If anyone were to offend me

      in a surge of pride or thoughtlessness,

      they would never escape me while I live,

      like dust cannot escape a cloud full of rain.”

      Concluding that the Bodhi·sattva had a strong regard for the woman and that his ascetic power must be slight, the king formed a low opinion of the Great Being and lost any fear of doing him wrong. Overwhelmed by passion and desire, he ordered the servants in charge of the palace women to go and convey the ascetic lady into his harem.

       21.34 [15] 21.34 [15] 21.35 [16]

      21.30

      When the ascetic lady heard this command, her face became distraught with fear and despair, resembling a forest deer chased by a ferocious wild beast. Her eyes welled up with tears and her throat stuttered as she uttered various laments in distress:

      “Like a father, the king protects

      people afflicted by distress.

      But if the king wrongs a person,

      to whom should one appeal then?

      The world-guardians must have fallen from office!

      Perhaps they do not exist! Or are dead!

      For they make no effort to protect the distressed.

      Morality itself is, I believe, but a rumor.

      But why mention the gods?

      My lord stays silent, despite my fate.

      When wronged by evil beings,

      even a stranger should surely be protected.

      He could transform a mountain into a memory

      by striking it with his thunder-curse of ‘Perish!’.

      Yet he stays silent, despite my plight.

      Such is the small fortune I have in life.

      21.35

      Perhaps I am evil and unworthy of pity,

      having fallen on this misfortune?

      But is it not the path of ascetics to act

      with compassion toward those in distress?

       21.38 [18] 21.39 [19] 21.41 [20]

      I fear you still brood over the time

      I refused to turn back, against your wishes.

      Is this the goal of my desires,

      dear to me but unpleasant to you?”

      So the ascetic woman grieved: after all, weeping, wailing and pitiful laments were her only recourse. The servants, however, followed the king’s orders by placing her on a carriage under the Great Being’s very eyes and taking her away to the harem. The Bodhi·sattva, meanwhile, had suppressed any onslaught of anger through the force of his calm equanimity. With a tranquil mind, he continued to sew his ragged robes, as untroubled as before, whereupon the king addressed him with the following words:

      “Earlier you uttered high and mighty boasts,

      words pummeled by anger and fury!

      But when you see this fair lady snatched away,

      you remain sad and quiet with impotency!*

      Show me the strength of your arms,

      or the might of your ascetic power!

      For, unaware of their measure,

      false vow-makers have no glory at all!”

      21.40

      “You should know that I have kept my vow, great king,” the Bodhi·sattva replied.

      “I did not let him go,

      though he struggled against me.

      Forcefully calming him,

      I have kept my vow.”

       21.42

      The Bodhi·sattva’s calmness clearly demonstrated his out­ standing fortitude. Filled with respect for the ascetic virtue the Bodhi·sattva displayed, the king had this thought: “This brahmin must have meant something else by his words and I must have acted rashly in ignorance of this.” Reflecting this way, he addressed the Bodhi·sattva with the following words:

      “Who is this other you did not release,

      though he struggled against you,

      like rising dust cannot escape a raincloud?

      Whom did you compel to be calm just now?”

      The Bodhi·sattva replied:

      “Listen, Your Majesty:

      21.45

      When he appears, one is blind.

      When he disappears, one can clearly see.

      He rose in me but I did not release him.

      He is anger, an affliction of his own support.

      When he appears in men,

      their ill-wishers rejoice.

      He rose in me but I did not release him.

      He is anger, a delight to one’s enemies.

      When he surfaces,

      no good is done.

      Anger causes blindness

      and I quelled him.

      Afflicted by him, one abandons virtue,

      losing any benefit one has attained.

      Anger is a hideous deformed monster.

      I crushed it though it quivered inside me!

      21.50

      When rubbed, wood produces fire,

      leading merely to its own destruction.

      So false conceptions stir anger in a man,

      leading to his own ruin.

      If a man cannot calm the feverous rage

      swelling violently like a fire in his heart,

      he will be slighted and his reputation will wane,

      like moonlight, the friend of lilies, wanes at dawn.

      But if, unconcerned by the dangers of others,

      a man views anger alone as his enemy,

      his reputation will certainly shine

      like the glorious sphere of the new moon.

      Anger also has these other great faults:

      A man is never handsome, however adorned,

      when anger’s fire steals away his good looks.

      When his heart is wounded by anger’s barb,

      he sleeps uneasily, though on a luxurious bed.

      21.55

      Anger makes him forget how to be happy.

      Traveling along the wrong path instead,

      he loses his fame and welfare, like the moon

      loses its luster in the dark half of the month.

       21.58 [33] 21.61 [35] 21.62 21.62

      Anger makes him fall into a precipice of ruin,

      however his friends try to hold him back.

      He often becomes senseless with hatred,

      his wits slow in judging good from bad.

      Anger makes evil ingrained in him

      and he grieves for centuries in hell.

      Can enemies do any worse than this,

      even when enraged by bitter